


Ice to Fire

by Cali_se



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blurring fantasy and reality, Canon Divergence, Episode Related, F/M, Fantasy, Flashbacks, Imagination, Imagined conversation, Inner Dialogue, M/M, Memories, Memory Palace, Nightmares, Past Relationship(s), Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Season/Series 03, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2019-07-15 07:37:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16058540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cali_se/pseuds/Cali_se
Summary: This story is set around/based on events of The Great Red Dragon and onwards, with some reference/flashbacks to previous episodes. Very much my own take on things, with some divergence from canon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set around/based on events of The Great Red Dragon and onwards, with some reference/flashbacks to previous episodes. Very much my own take on things, with some divergence from canon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from Jack and a letter bring back memories for Will.
> 
>  
> 
> _Will had always known, deep down, that it would happen eventually, that a case would come along that would lure him back into the field._

Will had always known, deep down, that it would happen eventually, that a case would come along that would lure him back into the field.

And now here it was: someone attempting to make his mark by killing innocent families at full moon. To be more precise, it was a case that had sent Jack Crawford out to lure him back, and Jack had known exactly what he was doing, showing him and Molly the picture perfect family photos. It struck at something deep inside them both. Will had doubted his ability to help, but once Molly had gained full knowledge of the situation, she'd relunctantly conceded: he needed to go.

Will still wasn't entirely sure. 

Now an agitated malaise gnawed at his core as he thought about the decision he needed to make, and the letter from Hannibal he'd taken from its hiding place to read earlier, advising him not to go back through the door that Jack was opening. Reading it, 'hearing' Hannibal again, had plunged him into the past once more, bringing Hannibal back into his head. As he'd got back into bed, he'd known full well he wouldn't be able to sleep. Now, sure enough, he tossed and turned, plumping the pillows, turning them over to rest his head on the cool side - until the cool side was also warm and damp. 

Hannibal had already found his way into Will's thoughts, more often than Will cared to admit, before the arrival of the letter. Like a stealthy, ghostly creature, the memories of him had lurked, waiting to pounce, bringing up feelings which seemed to rise from Will's belly up to his chest, making it hard for him to swallow, causing his throat to feel choked and dust-dry. Then there it was: that familiar tsunami of emotions; thoughts of Hannibal bringing with them a deep swell of longing, threatening to engulf him. 

And it _was_ longing he felt. A real and present yearning for Hannibal's presence. The scent of his body filled Will's nostrils, appeared on his flesh; the intimacy they’d shared was still imprinted on his soul like an indelible mark. Now the letter had brought him into this house too, an envelope and paper held by his hands, words written in his distinctive, elegant handwriting. Had he pressed it to his lips, Will wondered, before it was sealed?

The night of Hannibal's arrest, Will had walked back into the house and wept for minutes on end until his eyes were red and sore. Part of him had thought (had hoped?) that Hannibal would run. Part of him had still wanted to run with him. Part of him had loved the fact that he would always know exactly where Hannibal was.

And, even now, a part of him still crumbled into pieces at the very mention of his name.

Eventually, Will abandoned the chase to catch some sleep and got up. For a moment, he considered rousing the dogs and taking them out, but decided against it. Instead, he grabbed himself a glass of water and sat at the dining room table. It was very quiet. Eerily so. Will closed his eyes and, in spite of himself, deliberately recalled the contours of Hannibal's face. He tried to imagine him in prison clothes; in a cell, maybe in an enclosed room, captured behind glass with holes through which to pass food. He saw him standing straight-backed, proud, undeterred. Will couldn't prevent the small smile that appeared, quirking the corners of his mouth, as he imagined Hannibal watching him in turn, then heard his voice, low and steady, _sensual_ : "Hello, Will."

"Hello, Doctor Lecter." 

Will's eyes snapped open. He swallowed back a couple of gulps of water before setting down the glass. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he placed his other hand flat against his stomach, feeling for the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath his tee, remembering how Hannibal's hands had felt on him. They could be so gentle, and yet so lethal. 

"You have a nice life here," Jack had said as they'd sat together over dinner. Will knew he was right, even though he also knew that Jack could potentially be about to wreck it. 'Nice' meant normal, cosy, stable. This life with Molly, their family, was all of those things. Sharing space, living closely with another person had always been a slightly alien concept; distant, elusive. His feelings for Alana had given him a glimpse of wanting someone but, looking back, all that seemed so... adolescent now. Fumbling around with an idea of love. What he had now was like a warm blanket, safe. But Will knew, deep down, that the most intense and intimate connection he'd ever had was with Hannibal. It was a connection that had given him more than a glimpse of wanting someone. And, all the while denying what he was doing, Will had formed a relationship. Complicated, painfully raw, gut deep, soul deep; joining them together from the inside out.

And they'd almost been a family.

Will often wondered what would have happened if he and Hannibal had taken custody of Abigail and hit the road. What if events hadn't spiralled, ending in that rainy, bloody night when the teacup had once again shattered? Where would they have gone to? Would they have lived happily ever after? He'd since imagined sharing a bed with Hannibal, waking up with him in the morning, their naked bodies side by side; he'd seen himself loving him, being loved... These and other, more... _explicit_ images still found their way into his mind when in the throes of bliss, as he was touching himself, or sometimes - and this was harder for him to admit - as he was making love to Molly. The truth was difficult to ignore, however hard he tried: in spite of everything, thoughts of Hannibal stirred his blood, and aroused him more than anything he'd ever known. 

No one else had come so close to knowing him, the light and the dark, his angels and his demons.

Now, at - he glanced at the clock - three am, Will craved him. Like an addict's yearning for a fix, the need in him prickled beneath his skin, urging him to cave in, to satisfy the hunger no matter what the cost.

Hannibal would know what made this killer of families, this full moon devil, tick. Hannibal would know what Will needed. "Hence the letter," Will said aloud. "You sent that paper clipping too because you knew I wouldn't be able to resist. You knew I’d go back, even if it was just to spite you, didn't you? That's exactly what you want me to do."

"Who're you talking to?"

"Er... Myself."

Oh." Molly smiled from the doorway. "I see."

Will smiled back at her. "Did I wake you?"

"No. I woke up thirsty. You were gone, so... I came to find you." Molly sat at the table and took the hand Will was offering to her. "Are you okay?"

Will nodded. "I... I'm just thinking."

"I can guess what about." Molly took a sip of Will's water.

"Do you really think I should do it?"

"I don't think you'd be able to live with yourself if you didn't, honey."

"What I said before... that I might not be the same when I come back..."

" _I'll_ be the same. And so will all of this. And we'll all be here, waiting... Okay?"

Will nodded. "Okay."

"Coming back to bed?"

"Soon. You go."

"Don't be long, okay? I need you. It's cold tonight!"

"Okay."

Left to himself once more, Will's thoughts turned back to Hannibal. He imagined him sitting in the chair opposite, his head inclined, thinking, searching for a way in to the mystery and watching Will's reactions all the while. Will even caught a glint from his cufflinks, the lines of his immaculate suit, the curve of his wristwatch...

"I can't believe I've missed this," Will said aloud.

_You know where I am, my dear Will._

"Yes, I know exactly where you are."

_Where you can always find me._

"What makes you think I want to find you?"

_Oh, you will._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It really wasn't good for him to see the things in Hannibal that he'd once admired, relied on, as things he now desired._  
>  _And yet..._  
>  Will continues to make his way back to Hannibal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is set around/based on events of The Great Red Dragon and onwards, with some reference/flashbacks to previous episodes. Very much my own take on things, with some divergence from canon.

_"I don't want to know where you are or what you're doing... I don't want to think about you any more... Goodbye, Hannibal."_

_The words drifted from Will's lips: dreamlike, calm, softly spoken; an attempt at finality._

_Hannibal reached the doorway, hesitating there for a few moments before he turned to face Will._

_Their eyes met across the room. It was quiet and still. Hannibal crossed the room to sit beside Will on the bed._

_"Do you think you could really forget me?" he asked. "Never think of me again?"_

_Will shook his head wearily. "Please, don't."_

_"You say a lot of things about us, but you can't quite bring yourself to admit that you ache for my touch." Hannibal ran his fingers over Will's cheek. "Can you, Will?"_

_"No." Will closed his eyes and leaned into Hannibal's caress. "Because I don't."_

_"What if I were to kiss you now?"_

_"What if I don't want you to?" Will said, at the same time turning his head to meet Hannibal's lips with his own._

_There was a momentary press of flesh against flesh, then a mutual pulling back, before their mouths met again. Like a dagger gliding into a sheath, they fitted together in a perfect symmetry of design. Each man felt the pull of instinct, the swell of desire as they kissed, moving closer, closer, closer. Soon they were wrapped up in one another's arms, their mouths roaming over each other's cheeks and throats. When Hannibal ran a slow trail of kisses along Will's neck, Will found himself wishing that time could stand still._

__

__

_"I hate you," he breathed as he felt the gentle nip of Hannibal's teeth and the flick of his tongue. "Please don't stop."_

_Their eyes met briefly before their mouths met again; their hands found any skin they could reach beneath their clothing. This time there was no finesse, but neither man cared; all they needed was to feel one another, to taste one another._

_When they pulled away for a third time, they remained close, their hands resting on Will's knees, their fingers interlaced._

_"We saved each other, Will," Hannibal said at last. "When we had to choose, we chose one another."_

_"We saved each other from the same man."_

_"Yes."_

_"Mason Verger had his uses."_

_"He definitely belongs in the past tense."_

_"He deserves to be there."_

_"Do we, Will?"_

***

Burning Hannibal's letter was yet another attempt to answer _yes_ to that question. But the instant it turned to ash, Will regretted throwing it in the fire - the part of him that still missed Hannibal, anyway.

So many hours, days, months had passed since they'd seen each other, spoken to one another. There were times when Will felt that it was all truly in the past. Then something would bring it back: unbidden fantasies, both remembered fragments and imagined daydreams; the sensation of water moving around him as he fished, a piece of music or a work of art; sometimes it was the hushed quiet of the snow or the sound of the driving rain. Will's urge to see Hannibal again had come and gone over the months. He'd buried his feelings by spending time walking the dogs, either alone or with Molly and Walter by his side. He'd concentrated on the reasons why he'd attempted to sever ties, concentrated on what Hannibal had taken, not what he'd offered. The pain, not the pleasure. 

It really wasn't good for him to see the things in Hannibal that he'd once admired, relied on, as things he now desired. 

And yet... 

He had truly desired Hannibal once. He'd felt the curve of his mouth against his own, his hands in his hair, on his skin. He'd never dared name it, because it all seemed utterly impossible; that there could be a 'them' seemed utterly impossible. But he'd felt a connection unlike any he'd known before. It was intellectual, definitely, a duel of wits, and with that had come everything else. Will had found a unique friend in Hannibal just as Hannibal had found a unique friend in him. Their bond ran too deep to simply not exist now they were apart. It was like a watermark through paper. Will doubted they'd really said goodbye the night Hannibal had been caught. Hannibal had deliberately sought out his gaze as he'd knelt before Jack, his hands behind his head, and had willed him to find him, to come to see him: his partner in crime, the chosen one. It had been a hiatus in proceedings for him that night, that's all. Not a goodbye. Will carried Hannibal with him even now, but he hadn't handed him a continuation of their narrative. Not yet. 

He had, however, heard Hannibal's voice in his head the whole time he was at the house that was now a crime scene. 

As he'd made his way through the Leeds home, to piece together the grisly remnants of a family wiped out, every inch of the house had been stamped with the palpable, physical imprint of recent, violent death. The atmosphere had seeped beneath his skin, while the people who had lived, loved and laughed together within those walls haunted his every step, challenging him to find who had taken everything from them. Their fear, anguish, the intense terror of their last moments - he'd seen it all, felt it all, just as he'd seen, felt, and 'become' their killer. He'd had to pause several times as he went, taking moment after moment to compose himself, and had inwardly cursed Jack for bringing him back in the first place. 

But still he'd moved forward, still he'd fought to bring the demons into line, stepping back into the void to let the pendulum swing... 

With Hannibal at his shoulder.

***

While welcoming him back into the fold, Price and Zeller had scarcely concealed their surprise (and initial discomfort) at Will's presence as they'd discussed the disturbing clues already gathered from the crime scene. Will was with them on that one. He was still utterly surprised he was back; his own discomfort was still thrumming through his veins. As he'd taken a walk outside during a break, sipping the bitter coffee he'd grabbed earlier and allowed to go cold, he'd wondered whether he should just leave Jack a note and slip away. Being back in the loop was a weird, queasy mix of old and new, as though he'd put on a familiar jacket that had been lurking in the closet for years, and found old notes, grocery lists and defunct coins in the pockets. 

Now he was back in his hotel room, with the box of evidence he'd brought back with him safely hidden away in a drawer, out of sight. For now, at least.

That could wait.

He poured himself some whiskey and called home. There was no answer. He let it ring for a while before hanging up, swallowing down his anxiety by deciding Molly and Walter were out in the snow. They loved to watch the stars, all wrapped up against the cold. He wished he was there right now. Wished they'd answer the phone. Wondered if the dogs were calm and settled. 

He lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Fragments of thoughts floated in and out of his mind, swirling like confetti to land, uncaptured, around his feet. He was too tired to think, yet he couldn't stop. There was the missing dog, the crime report - the photos so very different to the ones Jack had first shown him - the shards of glass, Mrs Leeds...

"What's he fighting, Will?" Jack had asked. 

_What am I fighting?_ Will now asked himself as he chased shapes in the ceiling. _What is it, exactly, that I can't admit?_

Deep down, he knew that it was Hannibal's letter that had brought him back. He'd known it from the start. Like a siren calling to his boat at sea, Hannibal had been the one to truly lure him in. And now that he was here, stranded on the rocks, he knew it was Hannibal he needed to talk to. 

"I can't believe I'm about to do this." he said aloud.

_What will our good friend Jack make of it, do you suppose? Would he say that his fragile teacup, his very special agent, is willingly placing his head into the lion's mouth?_

"You'd have to ask him that yourself." 

Will turned over and wrapped his arms around himself. As he closed his eyes, he heard Hannibal's voice, closer this time, as if he were right beside him, whispering in his ear: 

_I'm waiting for you, Will._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams and memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is set around/based on events of The Great Red Dragon and onwards, with some reference/flashbacks to previous episodes. Very much my own take on things, with some divergence from canon.

_"We saved each other, Will. We chose one another above all others."_

_"Saved each other from the same man."_

_"Yes."_

_"Mason Verger had his uses."_

_"He belongs in the past tense."_

_"He deserves to."_

_"Do we, Will?"_

_Will swallowed down the lump in his throat and, gathering all his strength, he nodded. "We have to be, Hannibal."  
_

_"Have to be?"_

_"Yes."_

_"When we kissed, did you not feel it?"_

_"I felt like I never wanted to let you go."_

_"Yes."_

_"But that same... obsession. It's... " Will sighed. "Our relationship is... flawed, Hannibal. And my feelings for you run from ice to fire. I feel cold when you're not with me, but it's way too hot for comfort when you are. I keep getting burned. And now you're asking me to pick up the red hot poker all over again."_

_Hannibal nodded, his lips set firm; his eyes had already lost their softness. "You're being cruel, Will. Once again."_

_"Maybe I'm being cruel to be kind, Hannibal."_

_They didn't say anything else. Hannibal simply left the scene._

_And then he made a brand new one, outside, down on his knees with his hands behind his head._

***

Will wasn't sure if anyone else fully understood just how dangerously deep their bond had become. They knew only too well the theatricality of Hannibal's wrath, the pain he'd inflicted on those he felt had betrayed him. What they didn't realise, or even begin to guess, was the pain of separation that Will had also endured. He'd confided to Jack that he'd wanted to run away with Hannibal the first time round. He would never admit to another living soul he'd felt the same again since, that night they'd said 'goodbye'. In spite of it all, the presence of Hannibal had overwhelmed him, torn him in two. If it had been possible to clone himself and live two lives from that day forward, he would have done so gladly.

How many times had he sought Hannibal out, only to run from him again? How many times had the siren called to him from across the sea? 

In Lithuania, he'd unearthed ghosts amid the fireflies. In Italy, he'd reached a crossroads. Even then, up until the last moment, he'd been caught between two pathways. At Verger's farm, he'd found an ally, or should that be regained one? As he'd once chosen to cut Hannibal free instead of sacrificing him to Verger's ravenous swine, so Hannibal had chosen to save him, to carry him home through the dark and the snow. Both branded in their different ways; each drawn to the other, for better, for worse; by one turn deadly, by another life giving. Complicated didn't even begin to do it justice.

Allies, friends, lovers, captives.

And now Hannibal was a captive once again. 

"But no doubt your mind is free," Will said aloud. 

_Hello, Will._

"Hello. Don't you ever sleep?"

_I could say the same... Less formal now, are we?_

"The ice is broken. Just a little. Here, at least."

_And the fire? Do we rekindle the sparks?_

"No. Not the sparks. We can't have those."

_And yet, you do keep looking for me, don't you? My beautiful, remarkable Will._

"Yes. And you keep wanting to be found."

 _We could still have all of the things I promised you._

"Could we?"

_You could free me, Will._

Will closed his eyes and sighed. "Could I?"

_I'm still waiting for you._

Suddenly, Will felt the press of Hannibal's lips against his. 

"This is not what I want!" Will opened his eyes and touched his fingers to his mouth. "This isn't what I..."

He started to dial home but decided it was far too early to call; he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to anyway. He didn't stop to analyse why. Instead, he curled up and closed his eyes again, hoping to find some solace in sleep. Gradually he drifted into slumber, but instead of finding the peace he sought, he found himself besieged by vivid dreams.

_At first, he found himself in a building. He soon realised it was his house in Wolf Trap. As he entered through the front door, he found himself in Hannibal's home in Baltimore instead. Everything looked just the same as he remembered from his early visits. It felt like a haven, somewhere he was safe. The house of a friend. But then came the blood. It was everywhere: creeping, spreading like a crimson carpet across the floors, dripping down the walls. All of Hannibal's paperwork was covered in it. All of his beautiful things. With each new room, Will found yet more blood. Suddenly his feet slipped away from him and he lost his balance, finding himself on a kitchen floor that was in yet another house, the dimensions and contents of which he'd attempted to bury long ago._

_A pendulum swung, once, twice. The black hands of a clock ran backwards against its white face._

_Will was in a forest, surrounded by trees that were all in flames; thick smoke choked his lungs, suffocating him. When he looked into the fire, he could see Alana, reaching out to him, holding a younger girl with long dark hair close to her. Will tried to say her name, _Abigail?_ , but he found himself unable to speak. Alana slipped back as Abigail moved closer. She mouthed something indistinct, her voice completely silenced too, her brow etched with sorrow. Finally, Molly and Walter came into view. Will tried to reach them, but found his arms and legs were tethered by invisible ties. Suddenly Hannibal was beside him, leading him towards the flames. As he fell into them, Hannibal grabbed him and pulled him back out again, taking him into his arms. "I've got you, Will."_

_Will struggled to release himself from Hannibal's grasp, to get to the others in time to save them, but the flames subsided before he could get away, leaving the forest intact and no one but the two of them standing in it._

_As Will turned to face Hannibal, a stag came into view. It stopped and watched them from afar. Hannibal smiled. Will smiled back, but then his smile melted away as he realised he was looking into the face of a familiar dark, horned presence. Soon he was being pulled into its embrace, surrendering to its spell. As he melted into its form, his flesh becoming one with its flesh, he watched the stag turn away and retreat. It felt a lot like dying as he fell into the soft snow that now covered the ground, a transition from one life to another. Letting go of everything and everyone, he slipped into the void._

_Arms caught him. Held him close._

_He couldn't see whose arms they were, or whose face it was that looked down at him through the dark._

_He couldn’t see anything at all._

_He couldn't feel anything except the arms that held him._

_"Hannibal!"_

With a sudden gasp, Will opened his eyes, shaking himself awake. A little panicked but relieved to see the daylight, he sat up and checked the time.

It was time to get up.

Today was the day.

His dreams were still vivid in his mind later as he stood at the mirror cleaning his teeth. He tried to make sense of them. Was he walking blindly back into Hannibal's world? Naive, blundering, with a false hope that it would all mean nothing? Or was he willingly placing himself there, with his eyes wide open, seeking it out? 

_We could still have all of the things I promised you._

_Stop!_ Will admonished himself as he spat minty froth into the basin and swilled his mouth. _It was just a damned dream. This is purely business, remember? You need advice. That's all._

He'd told himself many times before that his next encounter with Hannibal would be a professional meeting. No room for emotion, no space in his head to remember what he might be missing. He'd managed to maintain an air of 'I don't give a shit' nonchalance for the most part, but then he'd found himself hearing Hannibal say his name, the way only he said it, when they were alone; the way that made him ache...

Will paused in his ablutions and looked at himself in the mirror. Reflected behind him, close enough to smell him inside and out, was Hannibal. He opened his eyes and smiled back at Will's reflection. 

_Come into my parlour..._

"Said the spider to the fly." Will said. "Which one of us is which?" 

Locking eyes with his refection, Will allowed all emotion to drain from his face. He stared into the mirror for a few more moments after Hannibal had melted back into the glass.

"Ready when you are, Dr Lecter," he said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will continues his journey back to Hannibal.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is set around/based on events of The Great Red Dragon and onwards, with some reference/flashbacks to previous episodes. Very much my own take on things, with some divergence from canon and jumping back and forward in time.

_I make my way into the hospital; anyone who blocks my path gets shoved aside. No one can stop me. I need to get to him. Nothing can halt my pursuit of this goal. I am unstoppable. I get all of the keys to each of the doors that keep him from me, by any means I can, then unlock the cage that holds him. He smiles as he steps out to freedom; I smile back at him. Alarms are sounding as we make our way out. Once outside, we break into the first vehicle we find. Then we drive. And drive. And drive._  


***

"You have to cut that part out." 

It seemed like a lifetime since Jack had uttered those words - and he really had thought it was possible for Will to do it. But Will had known even then that it would never really be possible, and killing Hannibal definitely wouldn't have achieved it. He knew for sure now that to do so would have killed him too. It sounded dramatic, almost operatic, but it was true. A physical death, a metaphorical one: it was all the same thing when it came to their relationship. The gesture, the symbolism of the thing, entwined itself with the act itself. Everything was a metaphor for something else. 

Seeing Hannibal again was like revisiting a place from one's childhood: mixed emotions that ran deep, memories made flesh, the five senses recalling poignant and selected fragments of a life lived as some other self. The smell of the facility, the echoes of familiar, yet alien sounds, filled him with dread. The butterflies in his stomach fluttered relentlessly - was it fear or anticipation? Those two things had always felt the same to Will. He couldn't exactly call it excitement, under the circumstances, but it felt like that too. 

As he'd cleaned his teeth in front of the mirror, with dreams of blood and fire (of Hannibal) still vivid in his mind, he'd made up his mind: no emotions, this is business. 

_"Ready when you are, Dr Lecter."_

In the event, when the man he'd rejected yet so often longed for was right there in front of him, in the flesh, Will once again felt a pull, an urge to be near him, while at the same time wanting to run for the hills. Even in the clothes of a captive, Hannibal loomed larger than his surroundings. He was still a force to be reckoned with, in command, quite remarkable in his self possession.  


And when he began (as Will knew he would) to sharpen his arrows, Will remained outwardly unmoved as he caught each one and snapped them in half across his knee. 

He was about ready to leave, when Hannibal changed his tune. 

"Let me have the file," he said. "An hour, and we can discuss it like old times."

"Thank you." 

"Family values may have declined over the last century," Hannibal continued, "but we still help our families when we can." A tiny moment passed between them before he added, "You're family, Will."

Will swallowed down the swell of emotion that welled up at Hannibal's words. Resolving, all over again, to resist seduction, he turned and walked away.

Alana was glad to see him again, but would have preferred it to be elsewhere - deeply concerned that he was connecting with Hannibal again, as he knew she would be. As they talked together in her office, Will reassured her that he was being very careful, but in that place deep inside himself he knew he was fighting harder than he was admitting, knew it wasn't just the slain families that had pulled him back to Hannibal's side; knew it wasn't just because of Molly and Walter either. In his attempts to make their world safer, he was making his own more dangerous. The old thrill would soon be back; he could feel it already...

It was the thrill of a courtship. Something deeply, darkly sensual. The blurring of lines. The power to tip the balance between life and death. And it was passion: deep red, dark crimson. That was its colour. The colour of blood. 

The feelings he'd buried like a pile of bones were starting to push through the soil, along with the urge to open up the locked room where his most secret self resided. There were two keys: he had one, Hannibal had the other. And they were both rattling the locks. 

***

_How does it feel to talk in the flesh, to work together again, just like old times?_

"I'm... ambivalent."

_You walked through the door that Jack held open for you. Have the contents of the rooms you've entered brought back the old malaise, Will? Or does the fact that you missed all of this sting you?_

"I didn't miss it."

_And yet you came back._

"To ask for your help."

_To get back something of the old scent, yes... And...?_

"And nothing."

_Did you yearn to reach out, to touch me to see if I was real?_

"No."

_I could smell your skin._

"Yes, I know. You said. My aftershave didn't please you."

_All those... intimate places you allowed me to see. I could smell the warm blood running through your veins..._

"That's enough." 

Will set down his drink and went into the bathroom to run a shower. As he stepped beneath the warm cascade, he closed his eyes. A sudden swell of longing rose up, unbidden. Exactly what or who it was he longed for, he didn't stop to question. He was tired of questions. With one hand braced against the tiles, he ran his other hand over his body, caressing himself. Then, taking his shower gel, he lathered it up and began to wash, his hands slippery with fragrant suds.

_Never enough, Will. Almost, but never quite..._

_Yet._

Will's hand dipped lower and, after a moment or two of hesitation, he gave in and began to stroke himself; he felt warm breath at his neck, thought he sensed a hint of fine wine. Then the heat of another, taller body radiated behind him as a strong hand grasped his own as it moved on him, bringing him closer, closer...  


"I don't want you.." he breathed, but he didn't stop. 

When he came, it was with a sudden, intense spasm of pleasure that brought up a low, guttural moan from somewhere deep down inside him. It took a few moments to come back to himself, for the familiar yet intrusive wave of bashfulness to come and go.

He turned off the shower and blinked away the droplets of water dripping from his hair and gathering on his lashes, then stepped out and grabbed a towel. 

Ambivalent was an understatement. 

Sometimes he hated how his feelings about Hannibal - or rather, how Hannibal made him feel - created so much inner conflict, but he didn't hate the way those same emotions merged with desire to make his body hum, hot, fired up with defiance and need. He'd both loved and hated needing him, and those same polar reactions were returning now. Their earlier conversations about the case drifted in and out of his mind as he dried himself: themes of family, being on the outside, the desire to find somewhere to belong, escaping what it is that lurks within... 

The colour of blood in the moonlight.

They'd been dancing the old dance once more: wounding, then soothing; skimming across shards of glass strewn over soft warm sand. Those 'little arrows' ( _How did you choose your family, Will? Ready-made wife and child to serve your needs_ ) so skillfully designed to punish him for the cruelty of his heartbreaking rejection, all the while hinting at a deeper truth. 

And here they were again: Special Agent Graham and Doctor Lecter, both of them still very much alive; their stories still linked, their shared narrative continuing. The invisible thread still pulling...

As though they'd never been apart.

***

_We cover miles of open road, heading for the coast... He knows where we're going and I trust him to take me there. We'll be there before dawn. Then we'll be together forever; outlaws on the run, maybe, but together. Fragments of a shattered teacup gathering themselves up at last._

______


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds himself alone in a hospital bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story has moved along a bit in time for this chapter, it's now post TWOTL.

_There's no one else left. The world is empty except for the two of us._  


_We get out of the car and walk to the house that will now be ours. As we approach, it begins to crumble. Shattering from the top down, it collapses into dust._  


_He takes my hand and leads me away again, and we vanish into the forest. Our newfound life is made of bark and ash; it spreads out across a green and gold, gilded landscape. We have no need of walls or foundations._

_Are we dead?_

_His voice drifts towards me like woodsmoke through the trees and I reach for him in the dark._

_"Will, mano meile."_  


_Am I asleep?_  


_The pendulum swings in slow motion._

_"Wake up!"_

***

Will opened his eyes, then immediately squinted against the bright white light that invaded them. Dazzled, he shut them tightly again. He was vaguely aware of a steady _beep-beep_ punctuating his peripheral awareness and the weight and sensation of crisp bed covers on his body.  


He opened his eyes again; as he did so his vision adjusted to reveal what appeared to be a hospital room. As he stirred, he felt a queasiness in his stomach, then the pull of the cannula in his hand. He tried to speak, but his throat was dust-dry. Sensing his discomfort, the nurse tending to his notes at the foot of the bed poured out a cup of water for him. Will tried to sit up to meet her, but winced as another shot of sickly pain ripped through him. He sank back and closed his eyes again, gratefully allowing the nurse to bring the cup to his lips.  


"How did I get here?" 

"You had an accident," the nurse replied, smoothing down the covers, "but you're doing fine now, sweetie, so just relax, okay? You're safe."

"It wasn't a..." Will closed his eyes as confusion and fatigue yet again engulfed him. The nurse floated away into the dark and faces from the past appeared in her place like photo flash stains against the veil of his eyelids. Jack, Alana, warning him to stay away from Hannibal. _Don't look for him, Will. He can't love you; he can't love anyone. He's incapable._  


_I thought I was incapable of being loved._  


Will turned his head away, as if they were really there at his bedside. He let his mind wander, banishing their doubt; remembering... or was it dreaming? He couldn't tell the difference between the two any more.  


Soon he found himself back in the cliff house by the sea. This time it wasn't crumbling. This time, he and Hannibal were there together, drinking wine. Not a dream. Not this time. This time it was a memory. A shared room. Could he smell the sea? He could certainly sense it, just as he could sense they were waiting for something, or someone. 

But for now, it was just the two of them. Will could feel the frisson between them as Hannibal approached him and took the glass from his hand.

"Alone at last, Will. Just as we've been so many times before. Do you remember them all, as I do?"

"Maybe not _all_ of them _exactly_ as you do."  


"But you remember the night I gave myself up to good Uncle Jack precisely as I do. You remember it because I did it for you."  


"You did it for yourself."

"There's that casual cruelty of yours again. I did it for you, for both of us." Hannibal's fingers were cool against Will's warm face. "But most of all I did it so you could find me. And you did find me."

"I took my time."

"I was patient. And in the end, you needed me."

"I needed your help."

"Yes."

"It took three years. I lived a life in between. For three years."

"And then you sought out, again, the life you had with me, the promise of all we could have. Because we've shared so much, Will. We still share it. So much history, so many memories. Our minds, our bodies. I wanted you to come with me that night. You and I, on the run, Together. What an adventure."

"Well, I declined."

"Yes. With more than a hint of regret, and with words only. As I recall, your body told me another story entirely. And this time, you came with me."

"I want to see what happens."

"I think you want more than that." Hannibal closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against Will's. 

Will's body yielded to Hannibal as he returned the kiss. "Is this your... inconvenient compassion?" he asked.

In answer, Hannibal's arms drew him closer as a familiar surge of desire swelled between them. 

"And what do _you_ want, Hannibal?" Will continued as they pulled away, his voice a low whisper against Hannibal's mouth. 

"You tell me, Will. You seem to know everything."

"You want to strip away everyone and everything from me," Will replied, pressing kisses against Hannibal's lips as he spoke. "You want to make me entirely yours."

"I could say the same to you." 

"What did I strip from you?"

"My dear, clever Will. Surely you know? You took away my unquestioned ability to survive in this world without you in it."

Will began to answer, but his voice was stolen away by the sudden, resounding echoes of shattering glass. 

As though transported, Will found himself, with Hannibal, standing at the cliff's edge, the raging sea below them; blood like war paint covered their skin, glistening, tar-black. United in the defeat of a common foe, leaving him slain, cold and dead in their wake, they clung to one another.

***

It hadn't gone the way of all those fevered dreams and wayward daydreams. No green and golden forest to vanish into either... Only the knowledge there was no going back; the threat and the promise of the vast expanse of water, and then blackness. Terrifying, exhilarating then terrifying again.

But oh, what a declaration.

Hannibal had said three little words: "Going my way?" 

And Will knew, of course, he was. 

It was an inevitable chapter in their story: that he would choose Hannibal when it came to the crunch; that he would admit, at last, that a cosy, normal life was not what he wanted, that it was something he couldn't sustain. He'd felt himself slipping away bit by bit since seeing Hannibal again, and - he had to admit - since his latest exchange with Bedelia during which she'd accused him of stealing the wedding bouquet from under her nose. He'd been torn in two for longer than he cared to admit, with one foot in one world and one foot in another. He'd told himself he needed to stay with Hannibal just until they'd caught the new kid in town, and then he would go back and patch all the pieces of his life back together. But as time went on, it felt more and more like being on the run. Had he been cruel? He liked to think he'd been kind - justified too, because he knew (didn't he?) that Molly and Walter would be better off without him in the end. 

Now he was alone. 

Faces came and went during the next few days, faces showing concern for the man who'd lost his memory. If he and Hannibal hadn't already been presumed dead, it was possible that one day soon one of those faces would be Jack's. Until that day came, Will decided to just go with it, and not tell them that his mind was mending along with his body. In spite of what the nurse had said, he wasn't safe yet, and the thought that they probably already knew everything about him, and were keeping him nice and warm until he'd recovered enough to face the chill drifted back and forth in his mind. In any event, he needed to buy some time. Above all, he said nothing about Hannibal. The things he'd done. The things they'd both done.

The last thing he remembered was the feel of Hannibal's hands on him, the grabbing and clinging, the look in his eyes - Will had never seen that look before - and the words they'd exchanged as the darkening skies and the swelling waves listened in.

The smell of blood was everywhere. Its sticky sweet viscosity clung to them like a mass of cobwebs in the dark. Their blood, mixed up like paint on an artist's palette. Will couldn't feel his wounds any more, all he could feel was a euphoric realisation that this was his destiny. All he could see was Hannibal.

_Can't live with him, can't live without him._

Nothing after that came to him. When he tried to recall how he got from A to B, he just found a blank space. Felt the pain of his battle wounds. All he knew now was that he was alone, that Hannibal was gone.

Those feelings he'd buried like a pile of bones had indeed pushed through the soil at last, the locked room where his most secret self resided had swung open.

"I'm not supposed to be here," he declared to no one but himself, his voice a mere murmur against the pillow. "Hannibal, where the fuck are you?"

***  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will continues to recover. But where is Hannibal?
> 
>   _"Am I awake?" Will asked aloud._
> 
>   _He'd asked that same question so many times since the fall - had so often wondered if the place he was standing was a dreamscape, if he would be woken up at any moment by a kiss and the aroma of coffee._

_I'm not supposed to be here._

A pact, made amid the flow of events, had brought them to the cliff's edge. 

_We can't go back._

_So we fall._

_If we survive, we're bound forever._

_If we perish, the same._

Will had accepted the possibility of death - had thought he probably deserved it - but, in the end, he'd wished for life. It was a simple toss of the coin when it came down to it. A wager with a fallen angel.  


Languishing in a hospital bed, with no sign of Hannibal anywhere near, certainly hadn't been on the list of possible outcomes. His bodily wounds would soon be healed, some would mend more quickly than others. His heart, however, felt as if it was smashed to smithereens, its shards stabbing at his throat like sharp spikes.

"Broken teacups," he murmured to himself and gave a small, wry chuckle at the absurdity of it all. 

Suddenly he could smell his cabin; the dogs, fresh from a walk, their fur still damp from a dip in the lake. He could hear Molly breathing beside him as he lay awake, brooding as usual. He'd really tried. Hadn't he? A sudden stab of guilt caught him in the guts like a sharp kitchen knife. They were better off without him. They truly were. He meant nothing but danger to them, especially now. They didn't deserve any of this and he didn't deserve to be forgiven. Yet, in spite of it all, he'd still choose Hannibal. He... loved Hannibal. And he'd known that Hannibal loved him too, hadn't he, when he'd asked Bedelia that loaded question? He'd just wanted to see the words forming on her lips. To watch her admit it.  


Perhaps he was cruel, after all.  


It would surely be news by now, their story. Or a version of it. It would be in the papers or on the internet for people to digest with their breakfast and then hopefully forget. All of it gossip, none of it substantiated.

_**FBI Agent kidnapped by Hannibal the Cannibal!  
**_

_**Murder Husbands plunge to their deaths in grisly suicide pact** _

_**FBI Agent recovers in secret location after cliffside plunge** _

For days, Will hadn't been able to hear Hannibal. Their connection was seemingly dead, the wires cut. He'd had to wonder if that meant Hannibal was dead too.  


But he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

***

He'd been sleeping for maybe an hour when something woke him. He knew what it was immediately; felt the presence of the beast even before he opened his eyes, seconds before he heard the clip-clip on the polished floor outside his room. He closed his eyes and tried to get back to sleep, forcing it out of his orbit. But then the sound got closer and he caught a glimpse of something dark and bulky moving past the door. The stag stopped and looked in, then turned away again. Will got up slowly and sat on the edge of the bed, before gingerly placing both feet on the floor and standing up. Testing the waters with a few shifts of weight back and forth from one foot to the other, he made his very shaky way to the door and then out into the corridor. The creature who had lured him was walking down towards the double doors that separated this part of the hospital from the next one. Before it got there, it turned and went down a side corridor. Will followed in its wake; his side hurt like hell and he held his hand there as he walked down several long corridors, and then down two flights of steps.

This shouldn't be happening now, should it? Would this be the last time?

What the fuck was he doing?  


As he reached the turn into yet another corridor, Will glanced around the corner and found the beast standing stock still before a dark doorway, waiting. As he approached it, the stag walked away in the opposite direction and in its place stood a tall, familiar hybrid creature, dark faced with huge horns sprouting from his head. 

As Will drew nearer, the wendigo didn't move except to incline its head in welcome. Will felt the familiar rush of anticipation right down to the depths of his being. It was heady and dark and earthy and primal. It was flesh and blood and bone. It was surreal, how much it made sense... 

"Am I awake?" Will asked aloud.

He'd asked that same question so many times since the fall - had so often wondered if the place he was standing was a dreamscape, if he would be woken up at any moment by a kiss and the aroma of coffee. 

Time passed. 

As though in a trance, Will stood beside the door, leaning a little against the wall.  


Suddenly he was alone as the corridor lights ceased to flicker and came on fully. He was aware, as if for the first time, that his feet were bare - looking back that was the one physical sensation he remembered most vividly: the vulnerability of his feet, naked against the cold floor as he gazed through the glass.  


Two cops flanked the room, both armed. Will strained to better see the bed and caught a glimpse of the occupant they guarded.

The world tilted then; a sensation, quite like falling, overcame him.

And then he really did fall. Blackness surrounded him, a wave of nausea swayed his stomach like a boat's pitch as he hit the floor.

As he drifted, he thought he heard a longer-for, familiar voice.

 _They're keeping you warm, Will, until you're ready to face the cold._  


That's my line.  


_And make no mistake, dear one, Jack knows exactly where you are._  


***  


Coming to, there was new confusion in Will's mind, a dark dread with a slither of hope seeping in like light through drapes.

A nurse tended to his notes at the foot of his bed. Through bleary eyes, he watched him work. Yet again, his throat was dust dry but, as their eyes met, he tried to speak; after a few attempts, he managed to get the words out.

"The basement... Who is in the basement?"

"What's that?" The nurse came closer and leaned in to hear better. 

"You have someone... in the basement. Beneath this room..."

"No. We don't have anyone down there. It's just a bunch of storerooms and a locked staff area. Lockers and so on. You've been sleepwalking again--" he laid a calming hand on Will's arm. "Try to relax now, get some rest."

"I saw... I saw someone there."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken. You imagined it, you--"

"No! I didn't. Please... don't lie to me."

"You were sleepwalking." Will's attempts to interject went unnoticed as the nurse continued on: "We'll have to keep a closer eye on you from now on; you're in no fit state to be wandering around the hospital in bare feet at all hours."

"Yes, I know my feet were bare. I know because I remember it. Because I was awake! I know I was. I know what I saw."

"Rest."

As the nurse walked away, Will tried to call after him, but his words faded fast on his breath as the echo of conversations past drifted in and out of his consciousness. 

One night, a long time ago now it seemed, they'd stood together in a cathedral. A vast, splendid homage to the Renaissance; its high arched ceilings had climbed to heaven with open arms while the stained glass windows had spilled multi-coloured, bejewelled light onto the surrounding stone frames. In silence, Hannibal had lit two candles, placed side by side. "For you and for me, Will. For both of us."

If Will closed his eyes now, he could still see Hannibal in profile, gazing at those twin flames as they danced together in the chilly air. 

He could smell Hannibal's expensive cologne, feel Hannibal's body covering his... his mouth pressing against his neck... 

As he rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, Will could have sworn he felt the brush of fingertips on his cheek. 

He didn't stop to wonder - or care - if it was real or not. He just called into the darkness, roaming the rooms of the palace they shared, then waited outside one of the doors for Hannibal to open it up and find him. 

Eventually, in spite of himself - and obviously exhausted - he drifted into some kind of slumber.

He didn't hear the shots, deep down in the basement, or sense the rush of sedative that caused him to sink deeper into sleep as strong arms lifted him from his bed and carried him away.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning.
> 
>  
> 
> _On the road: a vague sense of a vehicle in movement, of rushing, of the first light of morning._

_I can still remember that cliff 's edge, still feel the wind in my hair, smell the sea and the blood. When he held me close, I felt love like I'd never known it. Deep, gut wrenching, desperate and visceral. I wanted him to throw me down on the ground and cover me with his body, the weight of him pinning me down. I wanted to kiss his mouth until he couldn't breathe; to rip chunks of my flesh and offer them up as gifts..._

_This is a fairy tale ending, after all, isn't it? Albeit an ancient, dark fairy tale. A tale of rooms and keys and secrets. "You have passed the test, and you shall be my bride.”_

_Not a wife, in the end, but a husband._

_He handed me the key and I unlocked the door and I chose to stay. And I can't go back now. I made my choice, even before I knew there was a choice to make._

_I... I love him._

***

On the road: a vague sense of a vehicle in movement, of rushing, of the first light of morning. Someone else was driving, and Will was fine with that.

Drifting off again, he heard a voice saying his name.

Then more sleep found him and took him away.

***

When Will came to again, it was to the smell of coffee. Although certain this time that he was fully awake, yet again he doubted the depth and textures of the reality around him. But, sure enough, the unmistakable aroma drifted in and aroused his senses, followed by the _clink, clink_ of spoons against crockery.

Through the haze of his dim, sleep fogged sight, he looked around him. He was in a bed, tucked up beneath the covers, in a small, oddly nondescript room, with a narrow window shaded by dark drapes.

He couldn't quite decide if he was surprised or not, to find himself transported. At least it wasn't a hospital. Or a prison.

And then...

"Will."

A voice came to him: a voice he had come to depend on. A voice he thought he'd never hear again.

"Hannibal?"

"Yes, I'm here; I've been waiting for you to wake up."

Will reached out and soon found a hand seeking his too and clasping it tightly, lacing their fingers together. And then lips, gently pressing, kissed each of Will's fingers in turn.

"I've made some coffee," said Hannibal. "It's... passable, in the circumstances. Would you like some?"

"Please." Will sat up, further adjusting to his surroundings. He rubbed his eyes. "How did I get here? Was I _asleep_? I... I remember bits and pieces, but..."

"I took some necessary precautions," Hannibal explained. "A temporary measure, and for very good reason."

"Necessary?"

"Did I make a mistake, Will? Did you not long for me to come for you?"

"You already know the answer to that. But couldn't I be trusted to aid my own escape?"

"I wanted to make the journey as easy as possible for you. I had to make a choice. There was very little time."

Will took the cup that was being offered to him. "So... where are we?"

"Oh, a little hiding place of mine. Somewhere that no one knows about. We'll be safe for a while."

"Shit, _another_ hiding place?"

"Yes. We're in the woods, quite out of the way - you should feel at home, Will."

"And how long do we stay here?" Will asked, cradling his coffee cup in his palms. "What have you planned? And how the hell did you--"

"All that must be tomorrow. Drink your coffee. Then we can eat."

The coffee was hot and just this side of bitter, and it was exactly what Will needed. Hannibal sat on the chair beside the bed and watched him as they drank in silence until, at last, the meeting of eyes was no longer enough and he joined Will on the bed to take him in his arms. They stayed there for many minutes, holding on. It felt as though they were being reunited on the cliff's edge, as though none of the intervening moments had passed, the blood now wiped from their faces and their healing wounds the only proof of that passing time. Will felt lips against his neck. He closed his eyes and allowed Hannibal more access, sighing as kisses were pressed gently then more firmly and a hand moved up to cradle his head. 

"I thought you were dead," Will murmured. "I thought..." 

Will moaned as his words were stolen from him in the ever increasing heat of Hannibal's attention. "I thought you were dead," he said again, as Hannibal eased him back down against the pillows. 

"I always knew you weren't," Hannibal said, gazing down at Will before leaning in to kiss his lips. 

"I lost you. I couldn't... hear you. Then I thought I'd found you... something led me to the basement. Were you--?"

Hannibal took Will's lips into another kiss. Will pushed his fingers into Hannibal's hair, holding him close and keeping him there, needing this so desperately. 

"We found each other, yet again," Hannibal said, his lips still just a whisker from Will's mouth. "And I'm going to give you everything I have, Will. Beginning here, now, in this room. What we started... my love... we will finish."

"And then _we_ can begin."

Hannibal returned Will's smile. "Yes."

There was no ferocity in their lovemaking later that night. At an achingly gentle, measured pace, as though wanting it to last forever, they worshipped one another with their bodies, their lips, their fingers. Here at last was where love resided. Here at last was where each man found his other half. Now fully committed, their courtship rituals done with now they'd finally pulled up the veil, they came together as they had always longed to do. No games, no furtive meetings bookended with a snarky exchange, no flirting with the idea of a fully fledged union. This was the real thing, with nothing in the way. Just the two of them, reunited, naked and hungry and wanting, _wanting_... Eyes locked, never wavering as Will welcomed Hannibal inside him, buried deep, filling him up, thrusting slowly, oh-so-carefully so as not to hurt him. 

The last brick of the tall tower, pushed out. 

And down it tumbled, down and down, scattering its debris into the dust. 

***

_An angel fell from heaven._

_And in falling, he created his own dominion._

_And, fallen, he took a companion._

***


End file.
